


Artwork (DISCONTINUED)

by MindfulWrath



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bloodplay, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Restraints
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-03-26 03:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3834580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulWrath/pseuds/MindfulWrath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Strife seemed reluctant to participate in blood-magic; Parvis was convinced he just didn't know what's good for him. He planned to indoctrinate Strife to the craft by any means necessary, although he saw no reason it couldn't still be a pleasant experience.</p><p>(This story is no longer being written.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posting from my tumblr (mindfulwrath), because ... eh, just because.

It was important, Parvis thought, to always take the time to admire one's own work, especially when it was well done. Some might have called it vanity; he called it pride. What he had created here was a work of art, and he had no intention of letting it go to waste.

Groggily, Strife opened his eyes and lifted his head. He blinked a few times and shifted uncomfortably. His grogginess was swiftly replaced with severe annoyance as he tugged against the silk ropes around his wrists. Parvis could clearly see the muscles straining in his arms, his chest, his abdomen, and that was art unto itself. Strife glared up at him, green eyes bright, lips curled into a snarl.

"Parvis," he growled, "what the hell is this?"

Grinning, Parvis replied, "Just a fun little idea I had! I know how you're scared of blood magic, so I thought I'd help you work through it."

Strife made a face. "No thanks. And why the hell am I tied to—" he craned his neck, taking in his surroundings— "your _bed?"_

_"A_ bed," he corrected, pouting. "Don't want to get blood on my sheets, after all."

"You're not getting _my_ blood on _any_ sheets," Strife snapped. "And you still haven't explained why your potty-mouth wizard idea involves me being tied to a bed!"

Parvis's mouth curled into a wicked smile. He climbed onto the end of the bed and crawled on hands and knees up to Strife. He sat back on the other man's thighs, straddling him.

"Well, I didn't want it to be unpleasant for you," he demurred. "It'll be nice."

"It will _not,"_ Strife snarled. He gave another yank against his restraints. "Get _off_ of me, Parvis."

He pouted. "Aw, _Strifey,"_ he whined, sliding forwards a few inches.

"Don't you _aw Strifey_ me, Parvis, I'll kill you in your sleep."

Sighing, he conceded, "Oh, all right. If that's what you want."

Slowly, he leaned over Strife, pressing their hips together. He trailed his fingernails up the insides of Strife's arms, reveling in the curve and swell of the muscles so close beneath the skin. He heard Strife's breath shiver in his throat, and slipped two fingers under each silken rope, feeling the racing pulse underneath. Through half-lidded eyes, he looked down at Strife.

"We _could_ skip the blood magic," Parvis suggested, smirking. Slowly, subtly, he rolled his hips against Strife's.

Another shuddering sigh of a breath, punctuated by a quick gasp.

"I—aah, hm. Don't swing that way, Parvis."

"Have you ever _tried?"_ he inquired. "You might like it, you never know."

"Pretty sure it doesn't work tha- _haaah."_ His coherence abandoned him mid-word when Parvis pressed his lips to his throat.

"Used to think that way," Parv admitted, his mouth ghosting above Strife's neck. "Until I tried it."

"I—stop it, I can't _think_ when you're . . . _Parv."_

Parvis sat up and folded his arms, removing every point of contact with Strife's body. It was almost physically painful to do so, and by the way Strife shivered and leaned forward, Parvis assumed it wasn't much different for him. The other man was flushed, his breathing elevated, pressing his ribs out against his skin.

"What d'you want, Strife?" he asked candidly. "Tell me what you want and I'll do it." After a moment's thought, he added, "And it'll stay strictly between you and me. Forever."

Strife had squeezed his eyes closed and was biting his lip. Parvis couldn't help but notice how hard the other man's nipples were—but, he reminded himself, he could just be cold, being without a shirt and all.

"I want. . . ." Strife began, and shook his head. He shifted again, pressing his back against the headboard. "I don't . . . I don't _know,_ Parvis, it's _confusing."_

"Did you like what I was doing before?" he inquired, then watched as Strife's jaw worked—he really did have an impressive jawline.

"I . . . did," Strife admitted eventually, through gritted teeth.

"D'you want me to do that some more?"

Strife had gone quite red by then. "M-maybe, I don't know," he hedged.

"So that's a no, then," Parvis declared.

"I didn't say that," Strife snapped, glaring at him. Parvis's heart skipped a beat. Strife's eyes never failed to spark off his most impure thoughts.

"You said you didn't know," he pointed out anyway, "and that means no."

Strife let out a long-suffering sigh and tilted his head back to rest against the headboard. "God, you are _infuriating,"_ he grumbled. "You do all this to me and you don't even have the courtesy to let me act like I don't—" He broke off, pursing his lips.

"Act like you don't. . . ?" Parvis prompted, grinning.

He grumbled something unintelligible, flushing deeply.

"Didn't quite catch that, Strifey."

Strife glared at him again. "I want your mouth on me. All right? Jesus, at least it'll shut you up."

Parvis fell upon him with renewed enthusiasm, pressing their bodies together and fixing his mouth to Strife's throat, teeth and tongue and lips, and the helpless whimper that Strife let out as he arched against him was _music._

He twined his fingers with Strife's and nearly got his knuckles crushed for the pleasure, so he retaliated by biting down hard, sucking a hickey into the supple skin between his teeth. Strife sucked in a breath through his teeth and bucked his hips up against Parv's. The contact sent an electric tingle spreading out through Parvis's stomach. He hooked his calves under Strife's thighs and ground hard against him. Strife's fingers flexed and Parvis took the opportunity to regain control of his own hands, dragging his fingernails down Strife's arms, across his shoulders, down his back.

_"Parvis,"_ Strife breathed, rocking desperately against him. "Oh God, _Parvis. . . ."_

Detaching his mouth from Strife's throat with a wet _pop,_ Parvis caressed Strife's hips, sliding his fingers around to the front of his trousers. He kissed and nipped his way to Strife's ear, taking many detours and pausing often while Strife whimpered and gasped.

"What do you want, darling?" he murmured, lips against cartilage. His fingers toyed with the other's belt buckle.

"I don't—" Strife gasped, "I can't— _Parvis,_ please—"

"Hm? Please _what,_ Strifey?" He ran his tongue along the shell of Strife's ear, and he shuddered. "What should I do with my mouth? How should I get you off?"

Strife shook his head, even though he was still rolling his hips up against Parv's.

"I want—I want you to . . . to cut me."

"Oh, _Strife,"_ he purred, wrapping one hand around the other man's belt buckle while he reached for the knife in his own belt with the other. "You trust me that much?"

"Bite me again, you bastard," Strife ordered breathlessly.

Parvis obliged, closing his teeth on Strife's lower lip. It was unclear which of them started kissing the other first, but Parvis was sure he'd never tasted anything sweeter than Strife's tongue. He forewent his hold on the belt buckle to feel the muscles of Strife's back in their exquisite motions. The hilt of the knife was cool in his hand. When he pressed the blade to Strife's forearm, all movement ceased save for breathing. Parvis rested his forehead against Strife's.

"You're sure?" he whispered.

Strife nodded.

"I need you to say yes."

"Y-yes. Yes."

Parv grinned and ran his fingers up Strife's spine. "Say _please."_

Strife was trembling. "Please," he breathed.

At the first bite of the knife, Strife yelped, thrashing. Parvis sat back and placed the palm of his free hand on Strife's chest. The other man was shaking his head, his breath coming short. A slow trickle of vibrant red blood was making its way down the inside of his arm.

"I'm sorry," Parvis said, caressing Strife's chest with his thumb.

"Not your fault," Strife assured him gruffly. "Just . . . not so hard. Not so deep."

Parvis leaned in and kissed him, gently. "Should I remember that for later, or. . . ?"

Strife snorted. "Not gonna be a later." He hesitated. "This time."

"Okey-dokey!" he affirmed, and kissed Strife again, more deeply. He brought the knife down to rest against his biceps and trailed the bloodied blade feather-light over the muscle. Strife shivered.

"That," he encouraged. "Like _that."_

Parvis kissed his lips, the corner of his mouth, his jaw, his throat, all the while brushing the blade over Strife's skin; and Strife fairly _writhed,_ his head thrown back, his every breath a praise or a plea, his whole body taut and shivering.

He kissed his way across Strife's collarbones, up his arm, until he found the little trickle of blood. He pressed his tongue to the red bead at the head of it and traced its path, luxuriating in the copper-and-salt taste of Strife's blood. Strife moaned like the basest whore in creation, and Parvis's knees nearly went out from under him. He kissed the wound, grinding against Strife.

"More?" he breathed, pausing the blade of the knife where it rested on Strife's shoulder.

It took Strife a good six seconds to reply.

"Yeah."

Parvis pressed his bloodied lips to Strife's, and Strife licked the blood from Parv's tongue, and Parvis cut.

Strife flinched again, his every muscle tensing, his short exclamation muffled by Parvis's lips. The blood welled slowly in the shallow cut, clotting before it could run. Parvis ran his tongue over the wound anyway, then kissed it, suckled at it, while Strife whispered incoherently under his breath. Parvis trailed his free hand down Strife's abdomen, back to that ever-so-frustrating belt buckle, those so unnecessary trousers.

"Let me touch you," he begged. "I want to make you cum so goddamn badly."

Whimpering, Strife shook his head again. "Just . . . cut," he managed.

"If that's what you want," Parvis sighed. He kissed under Strife's ear, the taste of blood now heavy on his breath, and rested the blade on the most recent cut. He let it stay there for only a moment before bearing down, swiftly drawing the knife over Strife's skin and opening the wound deeper. Strife gasped, and Parvis cut his other shoulder, just as deeply, creating matching red slashes that dribbled blood down the finely toned chest. Then another cut, to match the one on his left forearm, and Strife cried out, and Parvis wondered what it would be like to be inside him, to fuck him senseless, to make him scream like that over and over until his voice gave out.

"You want me to stop?" he teased, pressing himself down hard on Strife's cock, still so infuriatingly trapped under his trousers. The blood traced the contours of Strife's body so beautifully, and his mouth was watering for another taste of it.

"No," Strife gasped. "No, don't stop, _don't stop."_

Parvis pressed the blade to Strife's lips, smearing blood on them.

"Shh, don't get _too_ excited, darling, or I'll bleed you dry."

Strife had begun to reply, but Parvis slid back along the other man's legs, catching the longest trickle of blood on his tongue just before it touched the waistline of Strife's trousers. He lapped up the trail, taking his time to savor every last drop, sliding his bloodied tongue over Strife's nipple and pausing to suckle at the tender flesh. Strife was ruined before Parvis even made it to his shoulder, but he kept going anyway, cleaning every drop of blood off Strife's sweat-sheened skin while Strife writhed and moaned and gasped and begged.

And when he had done that, he sucked another hickey into Strife's neck to match the first, and Strife ground against him like he would die if he didn't.

"I want you," Strife croaked, over and over again. "Jesus God, Parvis, I _want_ you."

Parvis trailed the point of the knife along Strife's flushed skin until it rested just between his collarbones.

"All right," he agreed mildly. He drew the blade down Strife's sternum, cutting nearly to the bone and unleashing a large quantity of blood. Strife screamed, but it was not a cry of pain.

Licking the blood that slipped from the wound, Parvis cast the knife aside and worked at undoing Strife's trousers, moving quickly so as not to get blood on the garments. He kept his mouth to Strife's chest and slipped a hand around the other's cock, holding Strife's hip with the other. The blood slid down Strife's abdomen, and Parvis's mouth was thick with the taste, and Strife was scarcely breathing as Parvis stroked him, quick and sure and determined.

With a cry more lovely than any sound Parvis had ever heard, Strife came into his hand, his body tensing for a protracted moment before going limp. Parvis continued to lick the blood from him, his own cock still aching fit to burst, until Strife murmured, "Enough."

Parvis sat back, taking in Strife's slumped, bloodied frame. Carefully, he untied the restraints around his wrists and gathered the other man into his arms.

"You're. . . ." Strife mumbled, his eyes already drooping.

"Shh," Parvis assured him, and kissed his neck. "I'm fine. Gotta save something for next time, right?"

"Right," he sighed, and rested his head on Parvis's shoulder. "Next time."

 


	2. Chapter 2

Scarcely five minutes later, the trembling started. It was small, at first—just a twitch of tired muscles, or maybe a shiver of cold air passing over bare skin. Parvis kissed Strife behind the ear and squeezed him, rubbing his back. Strife did not respond.

The trembling only grew worse, quickly escalating into a full-body shudder that would flow from Strife's neck to his knees and back again; and still he did not make a sound, nor even attempt to shift his position.

"Strife?" Parvis murmured, sitting back. "What's wrong?"

Strife only shook his head as another tremor coursed through him. His eyes were downcast, cloudy, and he was awfully pale.

"Strife, talk to me," he pleaded, cupping the man's jaw in one hand. "What d'you need?"

Wordlessly, Strife pushed Parvis away and extracted himself from his grasp. On bare feet, he stumbled to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Moments later, the sound of violent retching escaped from under the door. Whatever arousal Parvis had retained through the last five minutes drained away entirely, leaving only a cold pit in his stomach. Carefully, he got out of bed and crossed to the bathroom door.

"Strife?" he called softly, touching a hand to the cool wood. "Are you . . . all right?"

No answer, only heavy breathing, and then another round of retching.

Parvis leaned his forehead against the door, feeling as though he might be sick, himself.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "Strife, I'm so sorry. I didn't . . . I didn't mean for it to. . . ." He shook his head, wishing the earth would swallow him whole. "I'm sorry."

The toilet flushed, and then there was running water. Parvis jumped back when the door opened.

Strife stood in the doorway—still pale, still bloodied—swaying slightly on his feet. His eyes were fixedly averted.

"I'm going home," he croaked.

Parvis stared at him, guilt boiling thick in his stomach, tears brimming in his eyes, and nodded.

"Okay. I'm—Strife, I'm really sorry."

He shook his head.

"Not your fault," he stated gruffly, and brushed past Parvis, heading towards the stairs.

"I . . . well, take—take care," he ventured.

Strife grunted, and stumped up the stairs, and was gone.

Once he was sure he was alone, Parvis sat down on the floor, pulled his knees up to his chest, and cried.

* * *

 

A week passed, and then two, and Parvis neither heard nor saw anything of Strife. Although he was worried half-sick about the man, he refused to contact him in any way for fear of making the problem—whatever it was, he still wasn't sure—worse.

Nonetheless, he had decided he might be able to come at the problem sideways and get it solved anyway, which was why he was draped on a couch in Ridge's game room (not the Game Room, because that was a very different place and much less pleasant), getting absolutely shitfaced.

"Parv, y'know, I gotta ask," Ridge began, turning gleaming eyes on him. He was sprawled on another couch, feet propped up on the coffee table, and was at least half as inebriated as Parvis. "What're you doing here? Not that I don't appreciate the company, but this is . . . well, unprecedented."

Parvis shrugged. "Been bored," he explained, avoiding eye-contact. "Blood-magic's only interesting for so long without a break. Or any company."

Raising an eyebrow, Ridge inquired, "Strife been neglecting you?"

He frowned. "I wouldn't call it that. He just—hasn't been round. At all. For a couple weeks." His frown deepened. "No explanation."

"Tch. Typical."

"Have  _ you _ heard anything from him?" Parvis asked, trying to pretend his heart was not thudding in his chest like bass drum.

"Me? Nah, he doesn't talk to me." Ridge smirked, like he knew precisely what was going through Parvis's head. "You two have a falling out or something?"

"No—well, sort of," he admitted, fidgeting. "There was some . . . stuff. I think I—" He broke off, shaking his head. "Whatever. Doesn't really matter."

"Sure," Ridge allowed. "If he doesn't want you, there's plenty of people who do."

A hot flush rose to Parvis's cheeks. Surely, it was just a turn of phrase, Ridge  _ couldn't _ know, he had no way of knowing. Parvis snorted.

"Yeah, sure. Like who?"

"Me."

Startled by the factual intensity of Ridge's voice, Parvis looked over at him. The demigod was sitting up now, attention fixed on Parvis—and the nearly predatory greed in his eyes made it clear that his wording had been absolutely intentional.

"I—wha . . . uhh, that's, um," Parvis stammered, tugging at the kerchief around his neck. It was suddenly very hot in the game room. "Look, I—I appreciate the sentiment, but, er. . . ."

"But what? I'm not asking for anything. Just stating my availability to bend you over a table whenever you want." He grinned. "And I do have a  _ lot _ of tables."

Parvis was glad he was already sitting down, because the way Ridge was looking at him and purring out those words was turning his knees to jelly. And wasn't this what it was supposed to be like? No talking anyone into anything, no vagaries, no chance for miscommunication—just two people who definitely, unreservedly wanted to fuck each other senseless.

He slugged down the last of his drink, letting it burn his throat and the tarry guilt in his stomach. He'd taken advantage of Strife. It was the only explanation for the subsequent—well, everything. If he wanted to get his rocks off, there were plenty of other people ready and willing to aid him in that endeavor.

And one of them was sitting not five feet away, giving him the sultriest bedroom-eyes he'd ever seen in his life.

"Yeah," he said, though his tongue was heavy in his mouth. "Yeah, let's—let's do that. Yeah!"

Ridge got to his feet and closed the distance between them in a single swift step. Before Parvis knew it, the demigod had hoisted him to his feet and was kissing him, deeply, passionately, one hand on the back of Parv's head and the other already slipping under his shirt, dragging hot fingers over his skin. Parvis melted against him, clumsy hands fumbling with the buttons of Ridge's vest. He managed to get only two of them undone before Ridge threw him bodily down onto the couch and climbed on top of him, rolling him onto his belly before hauling him up again by his hair, leaving him kneeling, reeling.

Teeth sank into Parvis's neck, and Ridge pressed close against his back. A helpless, needy whine escaped Parv's throat and he arched against Ridge, reaching both hands back over his head to tangle his fingers in the demigod's hair. Ridge looped one arm around Parvis and deftly unfastened his belt, his teeth still digging bruises into the flesh of Parv's neck.

"Oh  _ Jesus," _ he whispered, as Ridge slid a hand into his pants. His skin was on fire, his head spinning dizzily, and when Ridge's fingertips brushed his cock he felt like he was going to  _ die. _

"You like that?" Ridge purred. He kissed Parvis behind the ear, sliding his other hand down his back.

"Yes," Parvis gasped. His hips bucked forward of their own accord, seeking more touch, more  _ everything, _ and Ridge withdrew his hand to grip Parvis's waist firmly.

"Ah-ah," he scolded. Parvis could hear him undoing his own trousers. "Don't get  _ too _ excited, now, you'll spoil the fun."

Parvis whined, and Ridge bit his neck again, resting both hands on Parvis's hips. He slid his hands down, pulling the other's trousers down excruciatingly slowly. Parvis's knuckles were starting to hurt from gripping Ridge's hair so hard.

One hand made its way up his abdomen and chest, under his shirt; hot fingers curled ever so lightly around his throat, and Ridge's lips brushed his ear.

"This good for you?" he inquired.

"I—ahh—y-yes," Parvis managed.

"You want me?"

"Y-yes."

He felt Ridge grin, the lips pulling back from his teeth, the sigh of hot breath against his cheek.

"Ohh, you are  _ so _ lucky to have me," he purred. The hand that remained on Parvis's hip departed, only for a moment, and clicked its fingers. The next thing Parvis knew, a finger slicked with cool gel was teasing at his entrance, and he had to forego his grip on Ridge's hair to catch himself on the arm of the sofa. Ridge chuckled, and helped Parvis out of his shirt, and took hold of the bandana around his neck as though it were a saddle-horn.

First one finger, then two—just a little before he was ready, and it hurt, but he was so desperate to be fucked he wouldn't have cared if Ridge had torn him in half on his cock. He could hear himself begging, distantly, through the roaring of blood in his ears.

Ridge pulled his fingers out, slowly, agonizingly, leaving Parvis trembling. He pressed just the very tip of his cock to Parv's entrance, just a hair shy of penetration, and gently lay his hand on Parvis's hip. Parvis tried to push back against him, achingly empty, but Ridge was having none of it.

"You get to breathe again when I cum," he murmured. "Say yes or no."

"Yes," Parvis croaked, because it was the only word his lips could find.

"Good boy," Ridge praised. The hand holding the kerchief twisted sharply, tightening the fabric around Parv's throat and cutting off his breath. Parvis tensed, and then Ridge was pushing into him, inch by agonizing inch, and if he'd been able to breathe he would have  _ screamed. _

Ridge fucked him hard, relentlessly; and every time Parv's vision started to cloud over with sparks, every time he thought he was on the verge of losing consciousness, the demigod would haul him upright and push their hips flush together, kiss his neck and grind against him while Parvis gasped in air—and God, every first breath was like an orgasm, he must have cum seven times already—and Ridge's cock inside him would rub against his prostate and he thought he was going to  _ die. _

The eigth time Ridge let him come up for air, he slid his hand around to Parvis's weeping cock and pumped it hard in time with his thrusts, which had not abated, which were pounding into that sweet spot inside him with pinpoint accuracy over and over again. Parvis cried out with every thrust until finally,  _ finally _ he came, and Ridge tumbled over that precipice with him, moaning into Parv's neck.

Ridge let him down gently, and undid the kerchief around his neck, and helped him out of his trousers. He planted rows of kisses along Parvis's neck, tracing the red line where cloth had bitten into skin, and held him loosely. The room was thick with the smell of sweat and booze and sex, and Ridge fell asleep almost immediately, his head resting against Parvis's neck.

And as Parvis sat awake, for an hour, and then two, and as the high faded and the chill seeped into his skin, he tried to convince himself that this was what he had wanted all along.

That this was better.

* * *

 

_ "Ahem." _

Parvis's head snapped up at the low cough, his attention instantly and completely diverted from his rune-scribing.

"Oh," he said mildly, blinking. "Hi."

"Uh, hey," Strife greeted, rubbing the back of his head. He was standing at the base of the stairs, leaning slightly on his atomic disassembler.

"How's it going?" Parvis asked, too stunned to come up with anything better. It had been three whole weeks since he'd last seen Strife, and there had been not a word of communication between them.

"Uh, fine. So, Parv, uh, listen. There's this dungeon, right? And uh, it's been kinda kicking my butt, so . . . I thought maybe if you weren't busy, you might wanna come uh, help out."

"Dungeon-crawling with Strifey? Of  _ course  _ I want to come!" Parvis cried, hopping to his feet. "Let me get my stuff, it's been  _ ages  _ since I've been out adventuring."

"Sure," Strife responded. He glanced at Parvis, just once, before looking away again. "Just uh, make it quick, hey?"

Parvis grinned. "Okey-dokey!" he chirped, and darted up to the storage attic with a light and fluttering heart.

 


	3. Chapter 3

Strife was watching him work, and it was  _ delicious. _

Every slaughtered enemy provided Parvis with a fresh wave of blood, and with blood came power, and after only fifteen minutes down in the darkness he was riding so high on it that he could think of almost nothing else.

The only other thing he was thinking of, as a matter of fact, was how  _ good _ it would feel to have Strife screaming underneath him.

"Good grief, Parvis, leave some for me," Strife grumbled, his eyes flicking repeatedly to and from Parvis, as though he was trying to look at the sun.

"Oh, I've got plenty for you, darling," Parvis chimed, grinning. Strife scowled.

"Don't," he snapped.

Parvis deflated somewhat. "Sorry."

"Whatever. C'mon, there's still a bunch of rooms, and a lot of my stuff is still down here. I hope." He stalked towards the next room. Parvis gave himself the greedy pleasure of watching him go for a few moments before following.

Strife opened the door, and an arrow hit him in the shoulder with a wet  _ thwup, _ sinking so deep into his flesh that it came out the other side. Strife staggered back and hit the floor, hard, clutching at the wound. Parvis leapt into the breach, his blood-red blade thirsty in his hand.

An arrow took him full in the chest, piercing his left lung. He yanked it out one-handed and lopped off the head of the offending archer with a battle-cry. The wound was healed before he'd stopped yelling.

Spinning, Parvis took another heavy hit to his arm, the arrowhead biting down to the bone. He yanked that one out, too, and cut its master into three pieces. A blunt iron sword bit into his hip, and he stabbed his attacker in the face, neatly bisecting their head between the rotting eyes—and so it went, on and on in the rhythm of fatal blows that nevertheless failed to kill him, until he was the only thing left standing in the room. He sheathed his sword, dusted himself off, and stepped back into the room with Strife, glowing with power. The amount of bloodshed he'd just perpetrated had his every nerve singing with magical energies.

Strife was propped up against the wall, arm limp, shirt half pulled off, chugging a health potion. Sweat glazed his skin, and his bare chest rose and fell sharply with his stuttering breath. Blood smeared his skin, stained his clothes, spattered the floor beneath him. Parvis stared, unabashed, his eyes roving over the perfection that was Strife.

And Strife looked up and met his eyes, and in that moment Parvis wanted him so badly he thought he would die.

"You're hurt," he said.

"Yeah, well," said Strife, looking away—his throat was glorious, begging to be bitten and bruised—and wrinkled his nose. "Par for the course, hey?" And he glanced at Parvis again.

Parvis looked down at himself—he was a complete mess, bloodied and ragged, although unharmed. Shrugging, he pulled his tattered shirt off over his head and cast it aside, sauntering towards Strife.

"Very par," he remarked. "You've got blood on you."

Strife jabbed a red finger at him. "You stay the hell away from me and my blood."

"I only want to help."

"I don't  _ want _ your help."

"You do, though. You asked me here to help, didn't you?"

Strife was pressing himself against the wall as though trying to push clean through it. "Parvis! You stay back!"

Parvis dropped to his knees, straddling Strife, and kissed him, one hand around his throat and the other flat against his chest. Strife moaned helplessly against his lips, arching his back and catching Parvis's wrists in his strong, calloused hands.

"I want you," Parvis breathed, breaking off the kiss and letting his lips linger above Strife's skin. "Strifey, please."

"Get  _ off," _ Strife begged through gritted teeth. "I don't  _ want _ this, I'm not—I'm not—"

"Then why are you so hot for me?" he wondered, trailing his hand down Strife's chest, across his belt, to rest on the warm bulge between his legs. Strife squirmed.

"Stop it," he gasped. "Parvis,  _ stop it." _

"It's all right, Strifey, no one'll know," he purred, ghosting his lips over Strife's cheek. He nibbled his ear and Strife wriggled again, only managing to press himself tantalizingly against Parvis's hand.

"I—don't—care," Strife panted. "Get  _ off _ of me."

"God, we'd be so good together," Parvis whispered into his ear. Strife shuddered, a tiny whimper rising from his throat. Parvis rubbed him, gently, and squeezed the hand around his throat. "Let me show you, Strife. Let me make you feel good."

"I said  _ no!" _ Strife barked, shoving Parvis hard in the chest. Parvis pinned him to the wall by his throat and kissed him again. He struggled, and it was sweet as honey—and then he went limp and pliant in Parvis's hands, and it sent him rocketing off on a high that blood magic could only  _ dream _ of.

He drank it in for a good long while, tasting it on Strife's lips and inside his mouth, so warm and so willing—

No, not willing.  _ Resigned. _

Parvis went cold. He sat back slowly, then swung his leg over and scooted away until he found another wall. He curled up, knees to his chest, a sour feeling churning his stomach.

"I'm sorry," he croaked, tears blurring his vision. "I didn't—I didn't mean—"

_ "Fuck _ you, Parvis," Strife spat. He shoved himself to his feet and, without so much as a backwards glance, stormed from the room.

* * *

 

"God, I don't know what was  _ wrong _ with me!"

Ridge nodded sympathetically and pushed another drink over to him. Parvis drained the dregs of his third Alcoholic Something and started in on the next.

"Over and over, he said it.  _ No, _ Parvis, get  _ off _ me, Parvis, I don't  _ want _ to, Parvis! And I just—just  _ ignored _ it!"

"You're too hard on yourself," Ridge assured him. "Anyone would've done the same. It's not your fault Strife's a wet blanket."

"Yeah, but. . . ." He trailed off.

"Hey, listen. I promise I won't wet-blanket on you."

"Didn't  _ ask," _ Parvis mumbled.

"Yeah, okay, but you wouldn't be here if you didn't want it."

"I don't think I'm drunk enough for this."

"Easily fixed. Have as many as you want, and when you're ready, I'll gladly fuck you silly. Trust me, it's better than you'll  _ ever _ get from Strife. Even if he  _ weren't _ such a wet blanket." He leaned his chin on his hand and considered Parvis with glittering eyes. "Why do you even want him, anyway? You've got me. It's never gonna get any better than me."

"I don't  _ know," _ Parvis bemoaned, tipping his head back. "Maybe it's  _ because _ he doesn't want to."

"You like beating the fight out of him, huh? Why didn't you say so, Parvy? I can accommodate."

Parvis stared at him, aghast. "What? But you're— _ you!" _

"Yeah, and me occasionally can enjoy taking a few for the team." He paused, considering. "If it helps, you're welcome my villager store. Everything's better on a blood-magic high."

"But. . . ."

"But what?"

"But I don't want to hurt you."

Ridge threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, oh  _ trust _ me, Parvis, there is no way in hell you could  _ ever _ hurt me."

Parvis frowned, staring into his half-empty glass, a fog of drunkenness starting to cloud his vision.

"All right," he acquiesced eventually, and drained his drink.

Ridge took him by the hand and helped him to his feet, then pulled him into a kiss. There was a tingle of power on the god's lips, and Parvis chased it. Ridge broke off, grinning, his arms around Parvis's waist.

"Ah-ah, don't do that, you'll wind up on your knees," he admonished.

"I'll decide that," Parvis proclaimed. The only thing keeping him from swaying was Ridge's arms around him, his body pressed flush against him.

"Oh, will you? All right, well, if that's what you want. . . ."

"It is," he said, with complete certainty.

"Oh,  _ goody," _ Ridge breathed, and kissed him again.

This time the rush of power was stronger, flowing in a sparking wave of heat under Parvis's skin. Half of it went to his head, lifting him out of his body—and the other half went straight to his cock, grounding him, leaving him aching and stretched thin.

"More," he begged, when Ridge broke off. "Please, more."

"Good," Ridge lauded him. The next kiss was even heavier with power, thundering through his body and mind and making his knees go weak. His head was spinning, body afire, pounding with want and need and the incredible high of power.

Ridge let him down gently, shaking legs folding underneath him until he knelt. Parvis clutched at Ridge's shirt, tears springing to his eyes as he goggled up at the smiling face of this greatest of all drugs.

"What will you do for me, pet?" Ridge purred. "To earn yourself another taste."

"Anything," Parvis blurted, falling all over himself to please Ridge.

The god smiled. "Good answer," he praised. "Here's what I want you to do, Parvis. I want you to take this gospel to Strife, and I want you to bring him to me. And if you're very,  _ very _ good, I'll let you have him when I'm done with him."

Parvis nodded, enraptured.

"Say  _ thank you," _ Ridge prompted.

"Thank you," he obeyed.

"And in the mean time, you can have as much as you want while you suck my cock."

Parvis was already fumbling at the front of Ridge's trousers. The god laughed and tangled his hands in Parvis's hair.

"Good boy," he murmured.

Parvis found his cock and slid his mouth around it, eagerly lapping at the warm member with his tongue, drinking down every last brilliant morsel of power he could find. Each spark sent chills skittering down his spine and a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through his body, made him more desperately thirsty for the next, and the next, and the next.

"Mm, God, just like that.  _ Good _ boy. Good boy."

And Parvis, so flooded with radiant golden power that he could not find the scattered pieces of himself among it, lay back upon his sea of sunlight and let his mouth do as it was told.

 


End file.
